After Hours
by Yellowfur
Summary: Edd will be coming into his own tonight. -Oneshot-


Double D was totally out of character today, and the decision to be out of character today would make him out of character for the rest of his life.

He swung his legs back and forth on the bus, staring down at his long, fitted, clean jeans and his stomach continued churning and burning as he constantly thought of everything he was doing that was wrong.

He looked anxiously out the bus's grimy window. It was nine PM or so, he figured. They were on some major street, but right now it was pretty blank outside – they passed some gas station that was the only source of light in a vast, empty field. He didn't check his watch, because for some reason, the thought of doing so also made his stomach turn.

Double D didn't even realize that his own fingers were tapping on his good, previously unused sports bag. _Do I have enough clothes?_ No.

Flip-flops and butterflies in his stomach.

Come to think of it, he only directly and verbally told one person he was leaving, didn't he? He wrote his parents a note. He cried when he wrote it.

And it wasn't Ed or Eddy he told.

He was going to tell Ed…

_The emotion that made the air heavy in Sarah's room wasn't exactly tension. It was just truly sadness._

_Sarah kept her eyes on the carpet. The carpet was still a dusty, girly pink, a little childish for a girl of fifteen. The pink theme of the room was made pinker by the light of late afternoon leaking through the windows. _

_Double D folded his hands over his crossed his legs, waiting for her to react. And he would let her react however she wanted to. She was holding back tears. It wasn't like Double D had never seen her tender side; he was one of the few people who ever had before. She was kneeling awkwardly on the floor, fiddling with her hands because there was a strange sensation in them that she couldn't get rid of. _

"_So there's nothing I can say that might make you stay?" Her voice was thick and shaky._

_Double D sighed. She knew the answer. _

Double D didn't tell the other two Eds because, come on, that was so cliché… to make an offhand mention of leaving and then just disappearing a week or so later.

He let out a shaky breath and slouched in his seat, biting his fingernails. Actually, he was more biting his fingertips, since his nails were bitten down to nearly nothing.

"_Did you send in your application yet?"_

"…_No."_

"_It's almost too late."_

"_I know, I know. I'll get it out… tomorrow."_

"_It's unlike you to wait. You're usually so punctual. Your father and I did not set aside money for your college education for years for you to end up not going because you forgot to apply in time."_

"… _That won't happen."_

"_You better hope it won't, mister. Not for all the hard work you've put in as well."_

"…"

He actually had sent out three applications. He would be accepted at all three prestigious colleges. And he would not be attending any of them.

He would not be attending college at all.

Instead, Double D went online and checked out the Classified section of the most populated urban area in the next state over. He had called about one interview. It was for being a lighting technician for a little club in the center of the city. He would be working late nights. And he had to be at least eighteen, which was something he at least took a little comfort in – if anyone did bother to come after him, then theoretically, they couldn't do anything.

"_Great, kid! Sounds all good! You'll bring a resume, huh? Awesome. So Saturday at ten, right?"_

"_Y-y-yes. I'll be there."_

"_See ya then!"_

That man sounded so eager to Double D over the phone. He had a husky voice, but a little strained (by what, he didn't know).

Double D will ace the interview. He will get the job. Until he saves up enough money for an apartment, he will live in a shitty motel, spending his life savings on money and food and what little transportation he will need, since he will be walking the mean streets (sometimes at night) to get to and from his job. There's no telling how many times he'll be mugged and will just be smart enough to not only give his wallet, but throw it in one direction while he ran in the other, because he read those types of tips online. And soon his walk will become a little more confident. Not only that, but he will eventually gain some friends to walk with, and getting mugged might still happen, but it will become unlikely.

Each time he walks by himself and hears something threatening or his phone rings when he's alone in his brown-colored room, he will flinch less. Each time he sees a roach in his motel room, his gag reflex will strengthen a little bit. Each time he very tentatively accepts a drink, and each time he has too much and gets drunk and wakes up with a horrible hangover, his tolerance will increase. Every time he ignores another desperate text message or phone call from his family or friends or some other figment of his past, that lump-in-the-back-of-your-throat nausea will dissipate just a little more.

The roaches might go away, or they might just be his permanent roommates. He might be able to hold his liquor pretty well one day, or he might always be a lightweight. And he might get mugged next year as well as next week.

But one thing that was certain was that Double D's past was part of an old part of him to be forever buried underneath lights and experiences and drugs and music and responsibility and independence and countless layers of countless things. He was getting a new character that night. Those desperate people who will keep calling, and then stop for a while, and then do it again at eleven PM on a Thursday because _You never know_ will eventually move on with their own lives. They were part of what made Double D, that one night on the bus, decide to step out of character. They were actually what composed the very definition of what "out of character" was for Double D.

It didn't really matter anymore.

The bus stopped. It was the city where Double D would be having his interview tomorrow. He took a deep, shaky breath and stepped off the bus with his bag in hand and wide eyes. He held a post-it note in his hand with two addresses on it, written in his tight scrawl. One address was of the club he would be eventually working at, and the other was of a nearby cheap-ass motel.

Double D looked up at the street sign. He remembered this one as the one he should walk down until he reached the intersection, then take a left, and the motel would be on that street.

The streets were alive and loud with lights, cars, trash, and people. It was a population he would soon be a part of.

He walked down the street, first with very hesitant and small steps. He took in a few close looks at his surroundings and his steps became a little faster and a little larger. They didn't have to be very large steps yet; it was his first night in the city alone. He had years to develop.

This was his new "in character".


End file.
